


Sink Your Blues

by aerClassic, HilbertEffect



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Gore, Crime AU, M/M, Murder Mystery, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerClassic/pseuds/aerClassic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HilbertEffect/pseuds/HilbertEffect
Summary: A murder victim beneath Wonhyo Bridge, seemingly random break-ins at some of Yongsan's wealthiest homes, and a mysterious symbol. Detective Kim Hongjoong is going to have to unravel the mystery of what connects them while dealing with the limitations of disciplinary probation (for something he didn't do or support or encourage, thanks very much) and a new partner, who may or may not be a living, breathing polygraph and can also see ghosts.Or something along those lines anyway. Hongjoong hadn't honestly been paying attention at the time.In hindsight, he should have.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All names of people, places, and things are made up except for the obvious.

In a four story high-rise situated near Yongsan’s border with the Han River, Kim Hongjoong meets his new partner when the sky is pissing rain and not one but _two_ burglary cases have landed, somehow, on his desk with a request from an influential local congressman taped to the outside that implies they are more of a priority than the homicide that went down not too far from the district office less than twelve hours ago.

“You can’t be serious.”

Lee Kijoon, the current chief and a man with crows feet so deep they might as well be the topographic map of the DMZ, rubs at the haggard collection of graying stubble on his cheeks. 

“Deadly. Commissioner Sanghoon wants these dealt with first thing and you’re the only person with enough free time to take care of them considering your disciplinary rotation.”

Hongjoong gazes distastefully at the folded stack of manila folders. “You mean the bullshit rotation because Seonghwa decided to go AWOL after the Gangseo wrap up.”

“One and the same.” Kijoon leans over Hongjoong’s desk to whisper conspiratorially, “Sanghoon hasn’t forgiven either of you for the black eye at the commemorative dinner, but get these knocked out before three and there’s a good chance you won’t get switched over to traffic. Simple B&E, no vics, no auto thefts attached, so more than likely more paperwork than peoplework.”

The close proximity means Hongjoong gets a good whiff of Kijoon’s two day shower-free musk, an unfortunate side effect at running himself ragged trying to keep the department in good standing for next year’s promotion slot due to be delegated in the next four to six months. He’s a good man, getting close to retirement age, and the added bonus of a higher salary—with attached pension—would mean cushy retirement for him and his wife of thirty-five years. Hongjoong would like him more if he wasn’t such a kiss-ass about it. Possibly if he didn’t insist on rubbing salt in the wound about Hongjoong’s current punishment for shit he had no control over.

“Wasn’t slated for traffic duty anyway,” Hongjoong mutters beneath his breath and cracks the first folder. “Where am I going?”

“Where are the _two_ of you going.”

The first folder gets snapped shut almost as quickly as it opened. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Kijoon, it’s hardly been a month. I’m not even back on regular rotation, what do I need a partner for?”

Kijoon only offers the placid faced grin of someone not paid enough to care that Hongjoong is still sulking about losing the first one. Which is, again, not his idea and not his fault. 

Especially the part involving Sanghoon’s black eye. 

“Certain departmental heads think you need supervision and I’m inclined to agree with them.” Kijoon casually checks his watch. “Should be here in a few minutes. Real nice guy, transferred in from Gyeongju.”

“Gyeongju,” Hongjoong deadpans out of disbelief and a smidgen of buried horror. “ _Gyeongju_?”

“Gyeongju.”

“Kijoon, _why_?”

His superior’s expression screws up in confusion. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re giving me a partner from bumblefuck nowhere is what’s wrong.” 

“Other cities do exist outside of your metropolitan bubble,” Kijoon says reproachfully, “and it’s this guy or getting used to doling out parking tickets and working bumper jobs with the people over in traffic. Take it or leave it, Hongjoong. Sanghoon wants you ousted from Violent Crimes and I’m not inclined to fight him about it unless you take these assignments, the new partner, _and_ keep your head down for a few months until the dust settles.”

The office is depressingly empty of anyone who would voluntarily put themselves into Hongjoong’s orbit without being threatened with unemployment first. After the business with the district commissioner, not many people in his department want to stick their neck out to speak to him about casework either. It’s like he’s a living breathing black mark on their record just waiting to strike and demote them away from detective to beat cop. The two files Kijoon slipped across his desk are the most exciting pieces of potential out of office work he’s seen in two weeks, relegated to desk jockey after the disaster at District 3’s end of year commemorative dinner slash fundraising event.

Kijoon informs him that his partner is named Jeong Yunho, a tall guy with a face that seems at odds with the hard scope of bloody detective work his position warrants. He’s got his regulatory blues pressed and perfect, buttons gleaming, the academy cap held rigidly against his chest like a proud new recruit. It makes Hongjoong feel a little grubby in his work jeans and faded police windbreaker with old coffee stains dotted along the sleeves. Kijoon welcomes him into the office with a rictus grin, a too loud laugh, and a cutthroat motion behind Yunho’s back when Hongjoong’s initial grimace does not go unnoticed.

“So you must be the new punishment.”

Yunho allows the statement to slide right off his back, only offering his hand in greeting. “Your new partner, yes. Just passed the exam last week and accepted the transfer request yesterday. Jeong Yunho, pleasure to meet you.”

Oh dear god, he’s so new he might as well have afterbirth clinging to his rounded cheeks. Hongjoong accepts the handshake with a doomed cloud beginning to form over his head.

“Kim Hongjoong,” he replies. “Pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure.”

Fucking _Gyeongju_.

Jeong Yunho is as rigid in his detective work as he is with his uniform, which means he’s an instant hit with their first client of the day. It’s a high class area, salaries in the sort of digits Hongjoong couldn’t dream of making in his lifetime without getting his hands dirty in the slave labor and land eviction business and enough fraud to keep the NTS jacking off onto their calculators for a decade at least. 

The burgled home is a three story high-rise in the middle of Hannamdong with an ostentatious gated entryway complete with a sleek beeping intercom system. Hongjoong notes it’s inlaid into a brick wall that has enough cratered handholds that any would-be intruder could easily scale the exterior without too much trouble, and clearly had considering they’re here. No clear signs of forced entry present themselves as a man with a severe scowl and earpiece escorts them inside where the wife of one Go Byungchul waits on a velvet chaise lounge the color of midnight. 

“I just don’t know what they were looking for and why they decided _our home_ was the place to find it.”

Hongjoong has never been very good with people, women in particular and _especially_ when they’re crying, so he hangs back in the background while Yunho cups Mrs. Younghee’s hands and offers quiet condolences over the invasion of her privacy. 

“Was anything stolen that you are aware of?” Yunho dips his head to better make direct eye contact. He keeps his voice pitched low and soothing. Textbook victim work if Hongjoong had ever heard it. “Any cash, jewelry, credit cards—that sort of thing?” 

Appropriately dazzled by Yunho’s tableside manner, Younghee’s surgically modified chin wobbles dangerously. “It’s so strange, but all they did was rummage through my husband’s office and throw things around in our closets. I was out with a few ladies from the Conservative Women’s Coalition and came home to...to—”

Younghee wilts dramatically towards Yunho’s chest and commences another round of faux devastation. 

Big and surly keeps himself to one corner glaring daggers at the space above Hongjoong’s head.

Hongjoong thumbs his nose at him. “Were you here when the robbery went down?”

“He’s a new hire,” Younghee interjects before he can respond, all traces of her tears vanishing mysteriously the second all attention was not on her. “Just this morning, in fact. For protection in case the criminal decides to come back and try to have his wicked way with me while my husband is away on business.”

“Didn’t I arrest you last year?”

Big and surly’s ears begin to color at the tips. “Detective.”

“Kim Dohyun! It _is_ you,” Hongjoong grins back. “Staying out of the club fights? Haven’t seen your name come across my desk in ages.”

“Five months sober as of last week,” Dohyun murmurs, bashful. “Switched to private security. All legal.”

“I bet.” 

Hongjoong’s not entirely sure how much help Dohyun would be in the event of having to fight off someone with anything sharper than their firsts, but if it keeps him out of Hongjoong’s rotations then he’ll take it. Club brawls were the worst calls to work because it’s either full of uncooperative creatine enthusiasts or overly chatty inebriated college kids on their first bender playing spectator like they’re visitors gawking at the zoo. Kim Dohyun is just a run of the mill adrenaline junkie who offered himself up while everyone else ran when Hongjoong and Seonghwa had been called to bust up their circle of roid-raging buddies knocking teeth around behind a Gangnam club, some trendy pop-up named _Base Camp_ because of its popularity with the international military crowd stationed at the nearby garrison.

Dohyun currently has a wicked looking green bruise still healing at the base of his throat and a cauliflower ear so gnarled up it’s a wonder he can hear through that fancy earpiece at all. Clearly the clubhouse brawls were ongoing, just more discreet. 

Yunho placates the weeping wife with a handful of tissues and a handsome smile. “So your home was broken into and nothing was stolen? Nothing at all? Hard to believe with such interesting and eye-catching decor.”

Hongjoong would call it _gaudy_. These people were the kind of new rich that liked to display their wealth in garish, over the top ways: a golden fountain in the foyer, chandeliers dripping with crystal in every room, spiraling banisters trimmed up with more gold leading to the upper floors. He’s pretty sure the painting peeking out from an adjacent room is an interpretation of Younghee’s nude form. 

“Which is why I called the commissioner the instant I returned home.” Younghee looks suddenly stricken, or would had the botox not frozen her face into an expression of perpetual surprise. She comes across as more constipated than anything else. “You don’t think they put cameras up, do you? I bet those horrible, horrible people are spying on me right now and laughing at a job well done.”

“We’ll do a sweep while we’re here.” Hongjoong directs Yunho to stand and asks to be led where the break in occurred, the scene helpfully undisturbed on the second floor. He convinces Younghee to wait downstairs with Dohyun while they take pictures and record the scene. 

Byungchul’s office is a wreck of spilled papers and upended desk drawers, not even a square inch of plush carpet visible through the mess. Hongjoong notes there’s a distinct lack of electronics anywhere. No laptop, no phone, no screens or tablets—maybe not so strange considering Byungchul is currently out of pocket and, presumably, carrying all his gadgets; or they’ve been deposited with his no doubt criminally underpaid secretary.

Yunho closes the door behind them and presses an ear against it listening for footsteps. 

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if your security buddy followed us,” Yunho whispers. “Hey, did you notice what I noticed about the wife’s story?”

“He’s not actually my buddy. I just arrested him a couple of times with my last partner and his name stuck.” Hongjoong takes a listless photo of last year’s tax records carelessly spread on the carpet. “So it really depends. What did you notice, newbie?”

“She kept saying _they_.” 

“Not very unusual for a thief to be referred to in the third person plural.” Hongjoong toes at a page that’s more black sharpie than toner and frowns dispassionately. This would be a better scene for the calculator thumpers over in finance. “Or for criminals to work in groups. What’s your point?”

“My _point_ is that she knows who broke in and how many people are working with them.” 

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” Yunho expands, “did you not find it strange that whoever did this didn’t steal anything of value? Half her entryway would fund my college career three times over and I know for a fact the fixtures in her kitchen are worth at least a few hundred thousand. You can’t realistically think thieves would get past security, see all the wealth on display, and _only_ focus on this office without bothering to at least nick the family jewels?”

“I did, but there’s not a lot we can do about it when there’s a congressman’s name attached to the case file.” Hongjoong toes through another stack of redacted money laundering. “Your best bet is to chalk it up to a random act of violence and go about your business.”

Yunho scowls impressively, which is sort of disconcerting because his face is so placid and welcoming it almost seems wrong to find a frown there instead. 

Hongjoong places a friendly, placating palm to Yunho’s left shoulder. “Look, I know you just graduated the academy so let’s finish up taking pictures here and I’ll explain how the real world functions outside of a textbook.”

“She’s lying, though. I can always tell.”

“How? You read minds or somethin’?”

“ _No_ ,” Yunho denies, “but it doesn’t take a telepath to guess that lady knows exactly who broke in and _why_ they did it. We were only called as a cover story when her husband returns home and is pissed that his fancy mahogany desk had gotten scratched up while he was away fucking the secretary.”

“I know.” Hongjoong snaps a picture of Yunho’s offended expression for posterity’s sake. It’s always nice to see the righteous anger on display before the neverending roll of political red tape spoils it forever to indifference. “Welcome to the fucked up bureaucracy of the uber wealthy.”

The back alley convenience store they stop at for a late breakfast is wonderfully pedestrian. Hongjoong knows by the layer of grease on the window counter that this wouldn’t be patroned by the likes of Younghee and her husband, which makes it the perfect place to decompress and get the stink of bougie potpourri out of his pores. Yunho follows him inside like the dutiful new partner he is, though he turns a little green when Hongjoong offers him a bite of bagel that’s only a day or two stale. Possibly a gnat had floated off when he’d selected it from the bunch, but a little extra protein never hurt when you’re on the job and suffering from probation inhibited funds.

“No?”

“I’d really rather not,” Yunho manages once he’s fought the obvious gag reflex down. “Are you going to explain why we’re not actively pursuing that woman for lying to the police? A false report is a criminal offense.”

“But it technically wasn’t a false report. We took photos of the crime scene and everything—you saw the papers on the floor.”

“Fine, then willfully withholding information during an active investigation.”

Hongjoong finishes the last chewy bite and licks his fingers clean, sucking obnoxiously on his fingernail because Yunho looks the squeamish type. 

“Look, we only went for formality’s sake. These things tend to resolve themselves between the parties involved when you get to that level of rich. We’ll make a request for security footage tomorrow and won’t have to include it in the write-up when it is _mysteriously_ corrupted. You want justice? Go knock on the commissioner’s front door and tell him you’re going to arrest him for rigging his election and see where that gets you.”

Yunho sulks in the car for a commendable two minutes.

“You and the commissioner...there’s no love lost there, huh?”

The leather of the nondescript van they’d borrowed from the impound lot digs into the palm of his hand and creaks beneath the strain of his grip. “I see someone’s done their homework.”

“I assumed you’d appreciate a new partner that does his due diligence.” 

“Let’s go back to talking about the cases. Where are we off to next?”

They pull away from the back alley neighborhood heedless of oncoming traffic. The magnetic flashing light attached to the hood is usually enough to deter anyone from honking or giving him grief for driving like a maniac when he can’t be bothered to obey traffic laws. Some of the guys down in traffic safety have made pointed remarks about it in the lobby of their station a few times, but they weren’t subjected to gory tableaus that come with working in the violent crimes unit so Hongjoong thinks he deserves the pass.

Their next stop is at a smaller McMansion on the exact opposite side of the district from the first yet somehow still thirty minutes away from the station according to the GPS. It has the same brickwork guarding fence as Younghee’s home, unfortunately no visible CCTV, and fortunately a distinct lack of gilded sculptural work in the adjoining yard. A haggard, wall-eyed woman dressed in a comical stereotypical black and white maid uniform complete with ruffled headband greets them at the outer door and leads them through a series of interconnected hallways without introducing herself, just waves them through after Hongjoong flashes his badge and announces the reason for their visit.

The victim in this case is a twenty-something chaebol who takes one look at Hongjoong and whines that they’ve sent along a rent-a-cop. “I ordered the best of the best and they send me one guy who actually looks like he’s part of the force and another who can’t even put on a uniform? This sucks.”

“You didn’t _order_ anything because the police aren’t items from a fast food menu,” Yunho corrects him stiffly. “We came because a crime has been committed.”

“Ugh, so boring.” 

Kim Namseok waves for the maid to lead them to a second wing of the home nigh invisible from the front gate where someone, or multiple someones, had broken in through the floor to ceiling windows and ransacked six rooms. Like the first house — aside from a few broken ceramics and a tacky statue of the Buddha — nothing appears to have been stolen. Hongjoong counts twelve paintings that have the potential to be worth more than the sum total of his apartment complex, though perhaps the thieves weren’t interested in easily traceable art pieces and opted more for destruction for destruction’s sake. Either way, the similarity to the first home is not lost on him and he makes a mental note to pull whatever records he can when they make it back to the station. Financial might be willing to work with him if it turns out to be some strange embezzlement scheme or a tax write off via the justice system. Hard to tell this early on.

Three of the six rooms are almost empty of furniture except for a flung open closet door and a chaise lounge. Huge mirrors hang on the most prominent wall of each surrounded by intricate metalwork that makes him dizzy when he looks at it too hard — so many fine details you could spend an hour looking and still only be on the first rounded corner. His new partner refuses to go into any of the mirror rooms.

“Why? Scared of seeing your ugly mug?” Hongjoong teases.

“No, I just don’t see any reason to go in when there are no signs of forced entry or debris.” Yunho, still hovering nervously in the hallway, stiffly keeps his head turned away. “And my face is very handsome, thanks very much.”

Hongjoong snaps a picture of the mirror while trying to get as much of the metal scrollwork in frame. “Not that I’d agree with you—“

“Lie.”

Hongjoong freezes. “What?”

“You’re lying,” Yunho smugly informs him. “Which means you _do_ think I have a handsome face.”

“And how are you so sure, rookie?” Hongjoong shoulders passed him to the next weirdly empty room. 

Yunho only taps his nose with a grin and follows a half-step behind. “I can always tell when someone lies. Which means you should trust me when I say that the first woman was lying through her teeth about not knowing who it was that broke in and we should bring her in for questioning _immediately_.”

“What, are you some kinda human lie detector? Just because you think you have a hunch about someone’s motive doesn’t mean we can just bring anyone in on a whim. There are procedures in place — number one being establishing a clear motive and evidence.” 

Hongjoong peeks through the crack of the next door, another mostly empty room though the mirror here has been shattered and broken across the entire floor. Someone, probably the maid, had come through and swept most of the shards that had inevitably made their way to the main hallway back into the door’s threshold as there’s a pile of glass heaped in a straight line along the bottom door frame. Opening the door with an elbow in case they need forensics to come by later, Hongjoong finds another chaise in the absolute center and a closet inset into the opposite wall flung open to reveal what appear to be — costumes?

“Not sure what Namseok or his family do for a living, but I’m starting to suspect these aren’t just glorified dressing rooms.”

Yunho makes a throaty noise Hongjoong takes as agreement. 

“Get some pictures of that closet, see if there are any uniforms or identifiable logos just in case,” Hongjoong directs at a near whisper. “If this turns out to be a prostitution hub, I don’t want the chief coming down on my head for not catching it early.”

He toes carefully through the shards to reach the large window overlooking the small courtyard. Places like this usually come with a third of an acre to landscape and another third for the unsightly alleyway easements between buildings. Whoever built this home had gotten creative with the topiaries so that Yongsan proper is almost invisible when looking down, though the unmistakable skyline is still clearly defined in the distance. 

Why would someone go through the trouble of getting in without getting caught only to break a mirror? An accident while they searched for something else maybe?

More than anything Hongjoong wants to know why Namseok bothered reporting this to the police. A break in is a break in, though surely Namseok — or his family — have enough muscle on staff that he’d feel safe without police getting involved. Unless this is a front to get police to do a walkthrough, give him a clean report, and open up a brothel under everyone’s nose claiming law enforcement had already done a sweep and found nothing.

Hongjoong hopes the last two rooms leave them with more answers than questions. 

Yunho is still elbow deep in the closet taking pictures so Hongjoong leaves him to it. The next room is clear, a few clothes scattered on the floor but nothing broken. He snaps a picture anyway just to have it in the report and tries to open the last of the reported doorways — a huge oak thing he has to put both hands on to move. Namseok probably has hired goons whose whole purpose on payroll was to theatrically swing it open.

This area is a devastation in comparison to the others, and for the first time Hongjoong understands why Namseok might call the authorities instead of sorting this out under the table with the perpetrators. Scrawled in red paint along the farthest wall are the words _YOU’RE NEXT_ and a tag Hongjoong doesn’t recognize, which isn’t all that surprising considering street gangs aren’t really a thing anymore now that the whole of the internet is at their disposal. There are a few orgs on Hongjoong’s radar, but most are old and established and know not to go breaking into houses and tagging their shit willynilly with no regards about getting caught. The symbol is jagged and the paint running down the wall obscures a good bit of the center, but it's clearly some sort of triskelion.

“There weren’t a ton of identifiable emblems, but I got what I could,” Yunho says from behind along with a low whistle. “Someone’s been watching too many horror movies.”

“There has been a disconcerting amount of gang activity and people partying on the street lately,” the maid from before rasps loudly over Hongjoong’s low pitched squeal of surprise. “We have made many complaints.”

“Is that who you think did this?”

She remains silent though directs them to the wall of drawers pulled open and thrown carelessly to the ground. “The young master had these custom made out of a rare wood found only in South Africa.”

Yunho diligently begins taking photos of the broken _everything_ littering the floor and the graffiti. 

“That’s not an answer,” Hongjoong grumbles. “We should really be speaking with Namseok about—“

“The young master is very busy managing his father’s business.”

“Right.”

Yunho wanders over sticking two fingers together. “Whatever they used to paint this is still tacky. What time did you say the break in occurred?”

“Alarms were set off at approximately 3:40 this morning.”

He and Yunho exchange glances as Hongjoong makes a note. “And no one was awake at the time? It would have taken more than a few minutes for them to do all this.”

“The young master was out of town and staff were not permitted on the premises,” the maid explains. “And before you ask, we do not employ video surveillance.”

They thank her for her cooperation and head out. Without any clear leads beyond a time and the strange logo, there’s not a lot they can do until someone comes forward as a witness or something from the estate pops up in a pawn shop. Namseok is asleep in the main room when they pass by, splayed out on a huge couch in nothing but a robe and one house slipper barely hanging on to an outstretched foot. 

Not exactly someone who’d be intimidating enough to operate a brothel.

“What did you say Namseok’s family business is?” Hongjoong questions once they’re back on the sidewalk out front.

“I didn’t,” the maid coolly informs them, “Have a good evening detectives. Please let us know if you find anything in your investigation.”

Yunho is still sticking and unsticking his fingers together in the car, frowning at the red smear.

“Do you need a napkin?” Hongjoong fumbles with the center console in the hopes the cleaning crew left a rag or some paper towels behind. “Gotta be something in here somewhere.”

“It’s fine.” Yunho holds his hand up. “It’s starting to dry.” 

“ _Starting_ to?”

“Yep.” Yunho rubs his fingers together and they watch the dried flakes fall to his lap. “Either she was lying about the timing or someone painted the threat on the wall when they got the call we were on the way.”

“Huh. Well Mr. Polygraph, what’s your take? Was she lying?”

Yunho tilts his head until the brim of his cap hits the window. “She was, but not about the alarm.”

With no other cases on the radar, Hongjoong points them back towards the station. “Not sure I trust you, but I got that feeling myself. When we get back I want to look up the son’s business. Maybe he’s taken money from loan sharks and is trying to fatten up the insurance claim.”

“I’d like to look into the first place too.” Yunho flips through Hongjoong’s notepad with his eyebrows furrowed. “Something felt off.”

“Nameless maid felt pretty spooky to me,” Hongjoong mutters. “Who calls their employer ‘young master’ in this day and age?”

“Namseok seemed like the kind of guy that gets off on authority, I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes it a requirement as part of the job.”

“Ew.”

It’s a twenty minute drive back due to traffic alone spent in silence aside from Yunho’s wheedling attempts at making small talk. Hongjoong is still sour they’ve saddled him with the newbie when he’s not even allowed to do his real job with the violent crimes unit. If only Seonghwa hadn't—

“Can we talk about the guy I replaced yet?”

“No,” Hongjoong denies and opts to take a turn that slings Yunho hard into the passenger door just to be an asshole. “His name is verboten on account of he’s number one on my shit list and you’re next if you don’t stop asking.”

Yunho wilts under the seatbelt with a long drawn out, “ _Boo_ ,” punctuated by blowing a raspberry.

 _A toddler_ , Hongjoong whines to himself, _they’ve given me a toddler._

  
  
  


By the time they get back, Kijoon has joined the rest of the detectives working the recent homicide which leaves only two junior officers and Yunho to do his bidding. The case files he hands over to his partner to fill out, sends one officer down to the eggheads in IT to print hi-def photos of the mirror edges, and goes in search of some stomach calming medicine before attempting to get elbow-deep in whatever shenanigans Go Byungchul and Kim Namseok’s families are getting up to.

“I think that bagel is trying to fight its way back up.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.” Yunho says and doesn’t even have the decency to look up from filling out evidence forms. “Pretty sure it was more mold than bread by the time you were finished.”

Hongjoong’s laptop makes angry whirring noises as it boots up. “It wasn’t _that_ bad, quit exaggerating.”

“I saw green.”

“You see a lot of things that aren’t there apparently, like someone telling a fib.” 

“Look, I have a genuine talent—”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Hongjoong interrupts, “Does the Byungchul file list a place of work or a business affiliation anywhere?”

Yunho, purse mouthed, hands over the entire folder for Hongjoong to search for himself instead of being helpful. “Has anyone ever told you you’re really mean?”

“Plenty.” He furrows his brows at the company listed under Byungchul’s name: GC Group. It sounds familiar, but nothing untoward comes up under a quick and dirty Google search—not even a run of the mill embezzlement scandal. “No offense, I just can’t stand getting close to people especially when it comes to work.”

Yunho’s uniform is so starched that it creaks when he leans forward to prop his chin on his hands, elbows digging into the drying ink on some notepads and smearing the dark polyester. “Why? We’re partners now, we’re supposed to be close to better understand one another on the field.”

“You sound like a textbook, dude,” Hongjoong says and smacks Yunho in the face with the thickest folder he can reach. “What’s your deal anyway? Why do you need to know everything about me when I’m not even asking you about anything?”

“But you _could_ ,” is the muffled reply. “Hey, want to play twenty questions while we wait for the pictures to print downstairs?”

“Dear god, no.”

“Great!” Yunho grins so wide and so impossibly bright that it physically hurts to look at and makes Hongjoong debate finding his aviators to block him out. “I’ll go first: where’d you spend your enlistment?”

“None of your business in not talking about it-ville.” 

GC Group turns out to be a minor financial arm of a larger corporation specializing in the buying and selling of commercial real estate and large machine manufacturing. A strange mix, but neither company looks to be having any real public relations issues that would warrant a break-in. No online threats aside from the general vibe of guillotining the rich that Hongjoong understands and quietly roots for. 

“You’re supposed to ask me a question now,” Yunho says mildly. “C’mon, be a team player or I’ll just sit here and make them up myself and force you to listen.”

Hongjoong squints at him over the top of his screen. “You’re going to do that anyway.”

Yunho’s grin widens. “Yeah, but you’d at least be an active participant.”

Hour seven of his mandatory ten, Hongjoong learns that Yunho is a year younger than him at 32, that he likes to juggle when he’s bored because he needs to be doing something with his hands to keep focused, that his favorite color is blue because of a special cake his mother made when he was young, that he has several siblings with similar names, and that, for some reason Hongjoong does not care to examine yet Yunho felt he needed to share, he believes in ghosts but isn’t afraid of them.

“They’re all just people once,” Yunho sighs. “Sad, desperately lonely people.”

Google is frustratingly blank on results for Kim Namseok, as is the department’s database. There are no businesses under his name, no priors to jump off of, no apparent reason he’d be searchable online for someone to rob—even Google Maps has his home cropped so that it doesn’t look as impressive outside as it does inside. 

“You know who’d love to be sad and lonely right now?” 

Hongjoong bites his thumb nail and reviews his notes again. A break in at a suspected future (currently operating?) brothel and a fake gang tag hastily spray painted to cover the tracks. _But why_?

Yunho blinks owlishly at him. “Who?”

“ _Me_.”

  
  
  


A month goes by while Hongjoong waits to be reinstated and Yunho continues to be a talkative thorn in his side. It makes him miss Seonghwa, just a little bit, because Seonghwa knew when to shut the hell up and leave him alone and how to make a tea that obliterated Hongjoong’s migraines before they really had a chance to start. His ability to conjure coffee that didn’t taste like stale ass had been sorely missed to the point even Kijoon was vocally debating using extra funds to put in one of the fancy drink vending machines to replace the break room kettle. 

“Please,” Hongjoong pleads after his third cup of the day. “Everything tastes like hot limescale but I’m too desperate to stop.”

“You and me both. The Commissioner's office sent over another stack for you to review and sign before the end of day tomorrow.” 

Kijoon’s eyebags are purpled to the point of bruising. Apparently the homicide wasn’t as straightforward as it appeared and now half the teams stationed near the Mapo and Wonhyo bridges have been taking turns reviewing CCTV and making corkboard maps of potential leads. Which is a shame because the boards were Hongjoong’s favorite part and he _still_ wasn’t allowed on VCU cases yet. 

Yunho was supposed to be his work partner and, in Hongjoong's mind, doomed to spend his first months on the job in probation limbo. Didn't stop Kijoon from dragging him off to join the fun now that it was an all hands on deck manhunt. The guy had a nose for clues and already bagged one promising dashcam and pulled two side street baristas in for questioning. 

Hongjoong cringes at the stack of manila folders neatly lined up on the edge of Yunho’s desk within reaching distance. “Sir, please just let me go out with the rest of the department. I’m useless in here when I could be doing _actual_ work—”

“Paperwork is actual work,” Kijoon gruffly responds, but Hongjoong can tell his heart’s not in it. “And Sanghoon wasn’t satisfied with the files you worked two weeks ago so be glad you’re allowed to be here at all.”

“It was three weeks.”

“Hongjoong—” Kijoon stops, pulls his glasses away to rub the bridge of his nose where the pads had dug out red divots from the pressure. “Fine, here.” He rummages through Detective Lee Dongjae’s desk full of cinnamon candy and old rubber bands hidden between the notepads and uncapped pens. Dongjae has been trying to quit smoking since his daughter was born and swears the candy helps curb the cravings, always found sucking on one and making obnoxious noises with his mouth, which is one of many reasons Hongjoong refuses to share a car with him.

Kijoon slips a picture on top of Hongjoong’s pile. “If you have time between cases, see if this logo comes up in any gang database. Go international if you have to, we’re starting to suspect a foreigner killed the girl and dumped her when he got bored doing the unspeakable.”

Shin Yeojin is—was, Hongjoong corrects—a twenty four year old university student found dead beneath the Wonhyo bridge. An inspection crew had spotted her bobbing up against one of the shoreline piers during one of their routine checks and called the authorities when they realized it wasn’t an illegal drug smuggling dinghy and an actual _person_. She was maybe four hours out, barely bloated from the water, and bloodless. No visible wounds beneath her once beige sweater and pants, yet the bruising on her arms and neck suggested it wasn’t a case of getting drunk and wandering to places she didn’t belong and jumping in a fit of drunken depression.

Hongjoong sucks his teeth. The crime scene photograph is cropped to include a picture of her clavicle where the sweater had stuck to the ground to reveal the same strange symbol he’d seen at Kim Namseok’s office. 

“Detective Yunho said the shape was familiar.”

The tattoo is a jagged triskelion: three red gnarled branches rimmed by a thin circle and the hanja for _huang_ at the center. It’s different from the one found at Namseok’s place since that symbol wasn’t circled, and if it was supposed to have hanja anywhere on it the paint had smeared it so badly it was unrecognizable by the time he and Yunho had arrived on the scene.

Someone sticks their head in asking for the chief, so Kijoon leaves him to his own devices. Hongjoong traces the symbol on a shred of paper to keep in his wallet and places the photo back in Dongjae’s desk drawer.

He calls Yunho.

“ _Yo._ ”

“Show some respect to your superiors, rookie,” Hongjoong sighs. “Kijoon showed me the tat.”

Yunho is silent for a moment, a rustling noise coming through the receiver like he’s pressing the phone to his shirt. 

“Yunho? Hello?”

“Hey, sorry, I had to step away from something.” He listens to Yunho clear his throat. “So, what do you think?”

“I think it’s a little too similar to the one we found at the Kim Namseok mansion for comfort, but there haven’t been any reports of triskelion graffiti in our district. Not yet anyway.” Hongjoong ducks down when Kijoon passes by the main doorway with a civilian weeping gently into her hands. “Let’s get lunch so you can debrief me on everything you guys have found so far.”

“Chief Kijoon says you’re not allowed on Violent Crimes anything until your probation is over.”

“And that's going to be on the tenth of never so just don't be a narc,” Hongjoong hisses acidly. “Look, there’s a decent noodle place just down the road. Meet me there in an hour and bring copies of the evidence.”

“But—”

“I’ll send you the address.”

The last thing Hongjoong hears is an indignant _“Hey!_ ” from the other line that he subsequently ignores. As the one with more experience with the VCU he’s entitled to order around the underlings to do his bidding, like the detectives before him, and technicalities be damned. Yunho is investigating the Wonhyo murder. Yunho is his partner. Therefore, Hongjoong should be allowed input while he manages the newbie.

That’s what he’ll tell the disciplinary board if they ever catch wind of it anyway. 

None of that matters though when two things are clear to him in this moment:

A woman is dead and Kim Namseok is somehow involved.


	2. Chapter 2

The restaurant is fairly empty now that the lunch rush is over. A few late stragglers come through but give the pair of them a wide berth when they notice the lanyards hanging around their necks with the VCU emblem. That and the fact Yunho still insists on rocking the regulatory blues instead of more flexible civilian clothing because he's a weirdo.

Yunho orders a pile of meat. Hongjoong orders water. The decrease in his wages means rent and utilities are more of a priority than food, so he opts instead to snatch the pad Yunho keeps in his breast pocket with the list of evidence. Yunho only rolls his eyes and doles out strips of pork belly along the grate of the inset table grill.

“So what makes you think Namseok is involved?”

Deciphering Yunho’s chicken scratch handwriting is turning out to be harder than trying to connect the dots between these strange and unrelated crimes. Hongjoong scrapes his nails over his scalp hoping to ease the pounding in his skull forming over attempting to figure out if a word is _femur_ or _female_ or _familiar_. All three seem to fit the context.

“Because that weird symbol we found on his wall. You still have the pictures saved, right?”

“I do.” Yunho leans over to show Hongjoong his phone, an entire gallery loaded with the painted wall prominently at the top. “Not that I necessarily disagree with you, but wasn’t the symbol left there by whoever broke in? That makes Namseok the victim, not the perpetrator.”

The ugly dripping letters reminds Hongjoong of tacky B-rated horror movies. Even the font for _YOU’RE NEXT_ looks purposefully over sprayed so that the paint ran down to the floor in gloppy droplets.

“And we both agreed that it was too wet for it to have been done hours before we got there.” His stomach growls so loud he’s sure the people on the other side of the room hear it. Hongjoong presses his fist to the center of his belly and promises himself he’ll grab a protein bar on the way back to the office. “Namseok ordering that maid woman to paint it after he knew we were coming to throw us off the scent wouldn't be totally out of the question.”

It's a flimsy theory and they both know it. All those mirror rooms full of strange clothing...Namseok had to be facilitating some form of human trafficking and Hongjoong itched to nail him for it before someone else gets hurt.

Yunho offers a plate of grilled meat and takes his phone back. “Eat."

“I don't need your pity food,” he denies out of stubborn pride. He’s a grown man who works _murder investigations_ , he doesn’t need to leech off subordinates even if his stomach audibly disgreed.

"It's not pity food." Yunho also plucks the notepad from his hand. “Eat and I’ll tell you everything we’ve found out about Shin Yeojin.”

Yunho leaves him with the lion’s share of the leftover food and pays the tab in his rush out the door. An unlucky passerby on the Yeongdeungpo side of Wonhyo had found something disturbing and once again all available officers had been called out to help. Yunho was at least kind enough to promise to send him updates when he could without getting caught.

According to Yunho’s notes, Shin Yeojin is employed by GC Group, but in what capacity they don’t fully know yet. She had no close friends or relatives to question and, aside from a skeevy landlord that asked how soon her apartment could get cleaned out for the next tenant, there’d been no one to ask what Yeojin actually did for a living. The company is apparently just as reluctant to provide any information on her job requirements and had stalled the investigation by demanding an official request from the prosecutor’s office first before they’d hand over personnel files.

Hongjoong flips back to the beginning of his own notepad to confirm it’s the same company as Go Byungchul, whose home had been broken into the same day Yeojin had been found. That case had been listed as resolved in the database a week later as Younghee had been embarrassed about the looks she’d been getting from the Conservative Women’s Coalition meetings and demanded the investigation closed before her husband came home from his overseas trip.

He drives back to the precinct distracted. Byungchul’s office hadn’t been tagged like Namseok’s place. Younghee had sworn nothing was stolen, but looking back at it now, the strangeness of _everything_ electronic missing from the home office seemed out of a place for a couple who could very clearly afford multiples of everything for travel. Not to mention a man like Byungchul—at his age anyway—would more than likely have a desktop monitor and those were fairly impossible to travel with. Which means they’d either been moved out of sight before he and Yunho arrived or someone had stolen them and Younghee didn’t want the police to know about it.

Yunho had been adamant she’d been lying. Hongjoong is starting to agree.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Kijoon nearly screams when Hongjoong suggests bringing Younghee in for one on one questioning. “Do you want me to get fired and live on the streets? Disgrace the good name of our district by harassing civilians? That case is officially closed and I will not have you jeopardizing this department any more than you have with your bullshit.”

“The only bullshit here is you colluding with Sanghoon to keep me from doing my goddamn job,” Hongjoong seethes. “She’s potentially withholding evidence.”

“Potentially is not certainly and you and I both know you have no proof to execute a warrant. Whatever evidence you think she’s got doesn’t pertain to your job right now anyway.” Kijoon slams another pile of folders neatly tied together by butcher string. “Have these filled out and finished before you leave tonight or you can kiss your position in Violent Crimes goodbye. I’m done trying to coddle you.”

Kijoon slams the door on his way out, startling the few detectives working diligently at their desks the two perps they’ve got handcuffed for interrogations in the lockup. Hongjoong falls back to his chair and aggressively tamps his seal into his ink pad until his hand hurts from the pressure.

He’s always known the chief was a hard ass, but this is something else. Sanghoon has power, true, though it’s not as if the commissioner has a total stranglehold over the entire police force and what they do over the course of an investigation. Kijoon just doesn't want any negative attention when he's so close to promotion and a cushy retirement.

He goes back to Yunho’s scribbles, ignoring the stack of mindless busywork.

Shin Yeojin. Occupation unknown, though more than likely an intern or low level secretary given her age. Toxicology report pending. Autopsy scheduled for next week after no direct relatives had come forward. Found beneath Wonhyo Bridge without a purse or phone, but had a lanyard tucked in a side pocket of her sweater with her employee ID attached. No car; no pets, unless the potted plants and thirty-odd vases of flowers counted; very little in the way of possessions other than her bed, her clothes, three ashtrays and an industrial dustpan. Yunho had written in the margins _minimalist smoker?_

As for the tattoo...

Searching the internet only brings up legends about fenghuang and...not much else. No idols have recently gotten themselves secretly tatted with the symbol that he can find. Yeojin doesn’t appear to be the fanatic type, but it’s not unheard of for an idol’s ink to get copied. The gang database still doesn’t bring up anything with a triskelion design or the hanja and no other possible thefts with spray painted threats have been reported.

Yunho had sketched a copy of the symbol found at Namseok’s place. The way he’d drawn the jagged spokes resembles the legs of a dead spider all curled up into itself.

Pain forms behind his ft eye as Hongjoong strains to find a connection, if there is one to be found. A murder the same night as two strange break-ins he’d been ordered to work by the commissioner—

No, Sanghoon hadn’t personally abused his name and office, had he? Kijoon kept saying Sanghoon wanted them dealt with but it was someone else that put their name on the case files to expedite their resolution first.

He has to wait three hours for the other detectives to leave before he can sneak over to the VCU’s filing cabinet for the folders he’d turned in. Technically they’re only supposed to keep the paper trail for thirty days before incinerating them, except digitizing everything takes time the precinct generally doesn't have and the backlog of folders reaches well into last year. The note ends up being attached to the backside of Namseok’s folder since Hongjoong hadn't really paid much attention to bother throwing it away given the circumstances. It’s a small white rectangle and in Sanghoon’s (Hongjoong assumes) neat handwriting:

_Congressman Choi Hoyoung asks for priority treatment. Get it done._

Hongjoong pockets the note for future reference. Younghee told them she’d called the commissioner when she returned home, but the note implies the congressman had been told first. So which was it? Did she have connections with the police or with a minor delegate? What would a member of the National Assembly care about some misdemeanor property destruction to warrant throwing his name around to get them priority?

He furrows his brows down at the image of a destroyed office and the garish spray paint.

And why was Kim Namseok included?

Hongjoong more than likely would have spent the rest of the night stagnating over the new development if Yunho hadn't texted him an update and an address and Hongjoong has a sort of hysterical moment where he thinks about running away to live in the woods. 

Low tide and a recent drought has made several sand spits visible all along the Han's shoreline. One such area near to Yeongdeungpo revealed a small collection of algae covered islands where an opportunistic fishmonger had tried to do some illegal trawling and, instead of pulling up mud crabs or fish, had reeled in a half-decayed body tightly bound with intricately knotted metal chains. Someone had done the corpse the honor of surgically removing the head before the body had been dumped.

Yunho describes the scene in horrific, gory detail on the drive to a certain coffee shop across from a 7-Eleven close to HanGang Ichon Park. 

“You know what’s weird?”

Hongjoong leans his forehead against the cool glass window and tries to get his breathing under control. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. Everything will be perfectly alright and his anger issues will not get the best of him.

“What?”

Yunho parks a block away, leaving the car idling while he reviews the new notes he’d taken. “I think the Wildlife and Fisheries guys were more upset about the illegal fishing than they were about the body. What kind of person sees a mutilated corpse and gets mad about fish?”

“Dollars to donuts he was already on their radar and they got pissed he basically turned himself in before Fisheries had a chance to stage a sting. Plus we get enough jumpers that a body popping up more than likely doesn't phase them anymore." Hongjoong grins a little to himself at the mental image of people in bucket hats covered in lures trying to plan a covert strike against some idiot who trampled through a rare migratory bird’s nest or something. “Any clues as to who it was?”

“Who, the trawler? Just a random street vendor. He’s got more fines than fish and a healthy case of trauma now though.”

“I meant the body.”

“Right.” Yunho’s face twists up with an emotion that’s hard to decipher in the dark. “Male. Coroner guessed mid-forties but it was too difficult to tell with all the—“ He makes vague motions towards his neck and stomach, Hongjoong guesses the water and fishy scavengers had done their worst. “Yeongdeungpo labs took DNA samples to cross reference with the missing persons list and hope for a match. Without a head, the dental records...”

Without a head with a face or teeth, finding a match was going to be impossible and the body will more than likely be quietly cremated in two months and the case left to go cold.

Hongjoong scrubs a hand down his face tiredly. His fingers smell faintly of ink and the pads are stained black and blue from hastily scribbling through the stack of nothing Kijoon left on his desk. Nearly all of them were open and shut vandalism and traffic incident reports that needed to be filled out twice and stamped with an officer’s seal for digital filing and insultingly below Hongjoong's field of expertise. 

Yunho finally turns the car off. “The two witnesses I found work at _The Blue Room_ just down the street and finally let me know they’re both on shift to interview. Choi San and Jung Wooyoung.” Hongjoong must look awful because Yunho’s tone shifts and he nudges Hongjoong’s elbow with his notebook. “You alright?”

Through the passenger side window, Hongjoong can see his face reflected in the darkened storefront beside them. His skin is pale, his usual eye bags appear like deep bruises on his gaunt face where all the weight he used to carry in his cheeks had dwindled from his poor diet. Even his hair looks as if it's staging an attack on his eyebrows where the dark strands hang limp on his forehead. He looks unrecognizable. Like a goddamn _ghoul_.

“Peachy,” he croaks. “Hey, remember when you suggested we play twenty questions as a get to know each other ice breaker? Let’s go back to that.”

Yunho’s eyebrows rise. “You’re stalling. Why are you stalling?”

“What made you want to apply for work in this district?” Hongjoong desperately tries.

“Well now I really want to get in there.” Yunho trots out and opens Hongjoong’s door with a grin and a jaunty hitch in his step. “Out.”

He clings hard to the inner handle. “I think maybe it would be best if I stayed in here and let you do all the talking.”

“Nope!” Yunho drags him bodily from the seat with an impressive show of strength. They have to pass regular health and fitness exams, but Yunho apparently does a lot of strength training because his grip is like a solid band of iron around Hongjoong’s wrist. He has a stumbling, cross-eyed moment of—of _something_ deep in his gut that passes as fast as it appears. “Up we go, mystery awaits!”

“More like misery awaits,” Hongjoong mutters. He wiggles his arm until Yunho, satisfied that Hongjoong isn’t going to turn tail and run back to the car, lets him go. “And stop bossing your superior around, rookie. It’s making me look bad.”

“You made yourself look bad,” Yunho says. “Seriously though, what’s so awful about a cafe that you’re afraid to go in?”

“You’ll see,” Hongjoong says cryptically and steels his nerves, inhales a solid and steadying breath before he pushes into the dimly lit shop.

Years spent deciphering the ebb and flow of Seonghwa’s moods while they were stuck in cramped cars during stakeouts means that Hongjoong gets one good look at him and barely has sense enough to duck before Seonghwa swings his fist out.

“You _asshole_!”

“You’re the one who left the force and landed me in probation hell,” Hongjoong wails his complaint, arms curled protectively over his head.“I should be calling you that!”

“What’s happening?” Yunho asks quietly, voice thin with shock. They hadn’t gotten more than a foot in the door before all hell had broken loose.

Hongjoong can hear what must be San or Wooyoung lightly patting Yunho on the shoulder and calmly explaining, “Just let them slug it out. Want a lemon bar?”

“I left the force because it’s a shit job full of shit people and _you_ were supposed to back me up by coming with me!” Seonghwa aims a kick at Hongjoong's knees that he narrowly avoids by combat rolling to the side and under a table.

“I still had rent to pay,” Hongjoong reminds him. Warily, he stands up and dusts off his knees, casually keeping himself well out of Seonghwa’s reach while his former partner seethes. " _Have_ rent to pay."

Seonghwa’s scowl intensifies. “I offered you a stake in the company.”

“You offered me twenty percent and a guaranteed fourteen hour work week.” Hongjoong steps closer to Yunho, now snacking on a slice of yellow cake with wide-eyed curiosity, making sure that if Seonghwa swings again it would be Yunho caught in the crossfire first. Seonghwa is a dick but he’s not so far gone that he’d outright attack an officer of the law. At least one who wasn’t Hongjoong.

His current partner just brushes away the crumbs from his uniform and clears his throat. “We should probably discuss what your employees saw the night of the murder.”

“You sound like a robot.” Seonghwa squints at Yunho before rounding to Hongjoong once again. “Why does he sound like a robot?”

“Hell if I know, they just gave him to me that way.”

“Oh shit, are you RoboCop?” San or Wooyoung bounces excitedly on his heels. “Sick!”

“Okay, number one no one gave me to you. That makes it sound like an arranged marriage instead of a career assignment.” Here Yunho pinches the bridge of his nose with a squint. “And I’m _not_ a robot.”

Seonghwa remains visibly unconvinced. “Then explain the outfit. No one I knew in Violet Crimes wore anything more restrictive than denim and you’re out here working scenes in uniform. That’s suspicious.”

“The rule book says—"

Hongjoong decides to save them all from a Seonghwa lecture by covering Yunho’ mouth with his hand. “He’s _new_ new. The second he rips his asshole on the seam of those pants trying to chase a perp I’m sure our android friend here will think twice about his choice of attire. Anyway, we came to talk to your employees.”

Seonghwa gives them both one last flinty eyed glare and directs them to a break room where the young man from earlier and another are now sat side by side nursing steaming cups of frothy looking drinks. Hongjoong thought they were much younger, but apparently both Wooyoung, the towheaded one offering up lemon bars earlier, and his coworker San are the same age as Yunho. He would have pegged them for late teens early twenties. 

Hongjoong props himself up against one of the poster covered walls and tunes out of the conversation. He trusts Yunho to get the necessary information without having to rely on Hongjoong hovering over his back grunting tips.

After the Gangseo wrap up and the disastrous commendation dinner, Seonghwa had sworn off police work. Popping Sanghoon in the eye on his way out the door stood in place of a more formal written letter of resignation and everyone involved had been glad to see Seonghwa turn his badge in, except for maybe Kijoon. He came from moderate wealth, so Seonghwa took his unemployment as a chance to open _The Blue Room_ , a not so subtle nose thumbing at the Blue House. It’s amazing the zoning board had allowed the name when Seonghwa so clearly did not respect authority, but even when they were working together Seonghwa managed to hold the strangest sway with people—victims, drug dealers, reluctant bartenders who liked the tips from their criminal customer base. Everyone seemed to fall under a spell when he spoke and easily divulged information as if hypnotized just because Seonghwa was pretty.

Technically he and Seonghwa were supposed to have dropped out of the precinct together to start an independent private investigation firm, but Hongjoong had gotten cold feet at the last second and reneged on the deal in favor of a steady paycheck and a guaranteed pension. Seonghwa begged him for a solid two weeks afterward to quit the VCU by offering him a stake in this new venture so they could at least do _something_ together, even if that something wasn’t investigative work like they’d planned.

Hongjoong closes his eyes and lets the drone of voices and the soft jazz filtering in from hidden surround sound lull him into a dreamless fugue-like state.

He and Seonghwa had planned a lot of things over the course of their assigned partnership. Some panned out. Some didn’t. Some broke so many departmental codes they should have been booted from the force years ago if they had gotten caught. Hongjoong is quietly glad that Seonghwa seems to be doing well for himself if he can afford at least two employees on top of all the other overhead costs of running a cafe. In another life maybe they could have—

Hongjoong snaps back to reality when San recounts seeing a man in a suit carrying a large plastic bag from the trunk of his car.

“He had a pretty busted up looking ear,” San says. “I mean, I try not to judge because we’ve all got our body issues, but this was like his whole ear had disappeared under all the scar tissue. I remember looking at Wooyoung like _are you seeing this?”_

 _“_ And I did,” Wooyoung helpfully adds. “You don't see guys dressed to the nines in a suit and tie dragging around big ol' bags of garbage at three in the morning very often.” He turns to San. “That’s weird, right?”

“Super fucking weird,” San agrees and they share a fist bump.

Yunho diligently takes down their statements. “Did you see where he was going? Is there a communal dumpster nearby?”

San and Wooyoung exchange a look. Wooyoung slurps at the last dregs of his drink. “We were too busy getting everything prepped for the morning shift to see where he went, but we’re, like, at least eighty percent sure he took off in a different car.”

“And you say he was dragging a garbage bag with him?”

“Yeah, like one of those industrial ones you use for raking leaves. Looked heavy.”

San murmurs agreement.

Hongjoong leans over, one hand braced on Yunho’s shoulder, and reads the last few notes: _Male. Cropped hair. Ear injury? Wearing a suit while taking out trash. 3AM. Bouncer?_

That sounds suspiciously like a certain adrenaline junkie he knows.“Do you think you’d be able to identify him again if you saw a photo?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “I dunno. Like I said, it was really dark and we weren’t paying _that_ much attention to him.”

“Maybe if you have a profile picture of him?” San offers when Hongjoong lets his frustration get the better of him and sighs tightly through his nose. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Yunho edges his way from beneath Hongjoong’s palm. “Is there anything else you remember about that night?”

Wooyoung shakes his head though San remains eerily silent, gaze locked on his hands gripping to the soft styrofoam cup so hard his nails are leaving indents.

“There was one thing,” San adds, then trails off with his lips tucked up between his teeth.

They all patiently wait him out as San struggles to find the courage to say, “I’m pretty sure I saw the bag move.”

Seonghwa meets them outside leaning with his back to the brickwork, a cloud of smoke lingering in the air as he tamps the last of his cigarette on the sidewalk. The streetlights overhead cast intimidating shadows across his face. Even his eyes seem to cast a sinister glow under the yellowed slashes of light.

“Hongjoong-ah.”

He flinches. “Yeah.”

Seonghwa’s jaw flexes. Hongjoong knows that move—how it means he’s trying to eat his emotions, swallow them down thick like inhaling tar and breathing trough the afterburn of anger they leave in their wake.

“It’s good to see you again.”

Sudden, visceral guilt hits him worse than any punch Seonghwa could have landed on his face. Hongjoong wheezes a tinny, “You too.”

“Also you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Hongjoong says. Showing up exhausted and unshowered hadn't been at the top of his list for their eventual reunion. Hongjoong's only consolation is that they've seen each other in worse states in filthier places than a side alley. “In case you weren’t aware, there’s been a murder.”

Seonghwa only hums noncommittally, rubs hands over his waist apron to smooth the wrinkles, and directs his attention to Yunho standing quietly off to the side pretending not to eavesdrop. “And you, robo boy—“

“I’m a junior detective!” Yunho bursts out. “Just because I _like_ the uniform—“

“Hey, whoa, I don’t care.” Seonghwa laughs, stalking forward to grab Yunho’s lanyard so he can yank him forward and down to eye level. His smile goes crooked and his voice tightens. “I'm just letting you know if anything happens to Hongjoong, you can bet the VCU is going to have another homicide on their hands. You'd be in so many pieces they'll have to put you back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Got it?”

Hongjoong sputters, “Seonghwa, what—"

“Threatening an officer merits a written warning, you know,” Yunho intones coldly. “But noted.”

“Good.” Seonghwa releases him, glancing significantly at Hongjoong. “I’m going to go back and punish my employees for being nosy. You two have fun.”

They can all hear the muffled _, “Oh shit_ ,” coming from inside the cafe. Seonghwa smiles, all teeth, and waves them goodbye.

The drive back feels awkward in the dark with the only noise to disturb the silence being the smooth rumble of the road beneath them and the crackling of a busted radio. Yunho managed to borrow the only SUV from impound that had a missing center console from an inexperienced carjacker. Hongjoong had actually read the file earlier: some idiot had gone for the CD player of the Honda while it was parked outside of a bank and ended up doing 2 years while the owner of the vehicle wrote it off so insurance would finance a nicer model Mercedes. Hongjoong allows Yunho to take the wheel again, opting to lean his seat back and feign sleep so he has an excuse not to talk.

Unfortunately, Yunho doesn’t take the hint.

“So.”

The flash of a street light momentarily blinds him as Hongjoong stares dispassionately at the roof. Figures. “If this is your way of trying to play the question game again, I’ll have you know my fake snoring is very convincing.”

Yunho clicks his tongue. “Do you want us to be strangers forever? Because that’s how you’re acting.”

“Yes.” Hongjoong longs for the sweet embrace of his own bed. The one he hasn’t seen in thirty six hours. The one that has the sunken outline of his body that holds him in just the right way while he sleeps without dreaming. “Strangers is good. Being strangers is safe.”

So very little of their job is _safe_. Seonghwa managed to get under his skin and look where that had gotten them: Seonghwa running a coffee shop and Hongjoong filling out paperwork for twelve hours a day.

“But you weren’t strangers with him.”

Goddammit. Hongjoong fists his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker until he can feel the bite of his fingernails cutting into his skin. “No, I wasn’t.”

He waits for Yunho to connect the obvious dots, barely breathing, but Yunho only dips his chin then digs around in the door cup holder for a napkin and holds it out for Hongjoong to take. "Here."

Hongjoong takes it, confused. "What's this for?"

"You're about to cry." 

"I am not!"

Yunho gives him a sly look as traffic thins and taps the side of his nose. "I can tell. It's alright to be upset seeing your, ah, partner again after so long under not very nice circumstances. It must have been overwhelming."

Damn him, Yunho has a point. An inexorable pressure begins building in his chest, behind his eyeballs—in all the nooks and crannies of his sinuses—that emerges as a snotty inhale and tears bubbling up along his lashline. He didn't have time to realize what he was feeling two hours ago, too busy dodging fists and all, but he missed Seonghwa. He missed seeing Seonghwa's stupid perfect hair everyday. He missed begging for coffee and the satisfaction of Seonghwa bringing him a mug and a refill because Seonghwa knew and understood the greedy depths of Hongjoong's caffeine addiction before 9AM.

His next breath shudders in his chest.

He missed being able to wake up in the morning feeling safe and secure, knowing that one person had his back in a world that didn't, and the shame of letting that connection go for something as fleeting and meaningless as _money_ clogs his throat.

"Told you," Yunho says quietly, so low Hongjoong barely registers the sound through his bitten off sobs.

Hongjoong manages a wet, "Fuck you and fuck off. You don't know me."

Yunho only hands him another wad of questionable takeout napkins. The implied _but I want to_ left to hang awkwardly between them.

They don't speak for the rest of the night and go their separate ways in the parking garage. Hongjoong punches his timecard and heads out with the leftovers from lunch protectively tucked up under his arm so that it doesn't get crushed on the bus ride home.

Sleep remained elusive after he'd gotten home the night before to the point Hongjoong comes into work and thinks he's experiencing a sleep deprivation induced hallucination. Kijoon is already barking orders, one hand in his hair and the other trying to crush his cellphone. Everyone in the office is either on their phone fielding questions or grabbing their gear to head out.

Hongjoong sidles close to Yunho seated at his desk, conveniently out of direct line of sight of Kijoon's frothing wrath. "What's going on?"

"Another body turned up." Yunho cranes his neck to look up at him and winces. "Shit. Did you get any sleep last night?"

Hongjoong shakes his head. "Maybe an hour? It's fine, I've worked harder investigations with less. Where'd they find the vic?"

They both jump when Kijoon screams at Dongjae to quit hovering over his desk.

"I'm just looking for my candies," Dongjae complains. "Sir, I—"

"I don't give a rat's ass about your goddamn candy when Commissioner Sanghoon is breathing holy hellfire down my neck," Kijoon seethes, "Get out!"

Hongjoong bites his tongue as they watch Dongjae slink out like a kicked dog. The man was trying to do better by his child and it's not as if taking two minutes to find his distraction from nicotine codependency is going to prevent the stiff from coming back to life.

Yunho nudges Hongjoong with his little pocket notepad.

 _GC Group released Shin Yeojin's_ _records,_ it reads. _Found out she's Byungchul's personal secretary. Supposed to have gone overseas with him_ _. Press caught wind and want his head on a pike_.

Hongjoong steals a pen and writes, _whereabouts_?

 _Unknown_ , Yunho scribbles. _But good chance the body under Hangang._

Just as Hongjoong lets out an incredulous, "Seriously?" Kijoon is descending upon with death in his eyes. 

"Hongjoong."

"Yes, sir."

"You're back on rotation." 

"Thank you, sir." Hongjoong bows.

Kijoon's voice is so hoarse it sounds like he's been gargling whiskey and rocks for the last ten years. "Don't make me regret this. One misstep and I'm personally escorting you to Traffic downstairs."

"No, sir," Hongjoong grits out. He'd been a perfect cog in the machine up until the Commissioner's dinner. All this mistrust feels totally undeserved and it grates on his nerves that Kijoon has decided to camp so far up Sanghoon's asshole to treat him this way. 

"Good." 

Three more phones begin to ring and Kijoon scrambles to answer them all at once, shooing the pair of them out with an aggravated expression. He and Yunho manage to escape the cacophony as the chief starts his media friendly greeting. "District 3 Violent Crimes Unit, Chief Kijoon speaking—"

Years ago Seoul decided to hold a design contest for a strip of land beneath Hangang Bridge that eventually turned into an industrial center for music and culture. The artificial island serves as a tourist attraction and a frequent host to film crews making tawdry romcoms and now, apparently, the site of a gruesome murder. An employee at one of the many connected bookshops found it tied to a beam in one of the still unfinished storerooms. 

Nodeulseom is swarming with police. They end up having to make the trek down the pedestrian footpath since all bus lines have been rerouted for the foreseeable future. Hangang Bridge has been shut down to just two lanes of critical traffic and the rest dedicated to emergency service vehicles and news crews. Military grade helicopters make lazy rotations over the entire island like buzzards circling a carcass. 

Hongjoong digs out his trusty pair of aviators to hide the hideousness of his exhausted face. "You think we'll be on the 5 o'clock news? Mom's always wanted a famous son."

"I hope not." Yunho has his hands casually hooked in the pockets of his uniform pants. "I get tongue tied in front of cameras."

"Yeah?"

"Our school was selected to do a presentation on the history of the Three Kingdoms for a local television program and I froze up when it was my turn to talk about Jinheung." 

"Oh my god."

Yunho's eyebrows scrunch. "I was five or six and ended up peeing myself on camera. Still haven't lived it down either."

Hongjoong only barely stifles the urge to laugh. "Is that why you were so eager to get away from Gyeongju?"

Yunho doesn't answer for a long moment as they dodge the crush of bodies frantically running to and from workspace to workspace cataloging CCTV and security footage. Hongjoong has almost totally forgotten what they were talking about by the time they're given the all clear to set foot near the crime scene by security.

"I wasn't eager to leave," Yunho finally says once they get their plastic shoe covers in place. "But I had to."

Plastic sheeting had been hung to separate the crime scene from the general populace that Hongjoong holds politely out of the way. "You had to come to Yongsan? Why here?"

Yunho's expression shutters. "I'm looking for someone."

More caution tape cordons off the chalk outline of a sheet covered body. Hongjoong steps over it thinking someone had really gone out of their way to make this process as cumbersome as possible. "And you think working Violent Crimes is going to help you do that? Just call the registry service and they can find whoever it is easy-peasy."

"Well," Yunho murmurs, "I would, but they wouldn't be of much help."

The dark crimson of old blood is splattered like a halo around the body's head. Hongjoong crouches down, sterile blue gloves in place so he can handle the sheeting. "Did you even ask?"

"It's complicated."

Hongjoong pulls back the white sheet and recoils in horror, his stomach churning even after all these years. The body is another male, late sixties by the look of his liver spots, dressed in a tailored suit, and laid out with his hands crisscrossed over his chest like a cartoonish rendition of a sleeping vampire. Someone had helped themselves to every single one of his nails, the pads of his fingers, and his head. The stink has already begun to set in and wafts up from the gory scene beneath Hongjoong's mask in a choking cloud of decay and rotting blood.

Yunho tilts his head curiously for a better look. "Another decapitation?"

"Appears that way." Hongjoong allows the sheet to drop. He hasn't felt this sick at seeing a dead body since he was still a greenhorn shadowing Seonghwa. "Took his fingernails too. Is that what happened to the victim found on the other side of Wonhyo?

Yunho shrugs one shoulder. "Hard to say. By the time he was found, nature and the elements had taken care of anything identifiable. His arms were pretty much nonexistent to the point he was basically just a sternum with skeleton bits attached."

Hongjoong peeks again at the body. Whoever it was had high dollar taste judging by the tacky YSL label flipped to be visible along the edge of his red pocket square. The shoes are new too, or, if not new, then polished to a shine so that any past scuffs are nigh invisible. If this is really Go Byungchul like Yunho guessed...

Then now they have a solid reason to bring both Jung Younghee and Kim Dohyun in for questioning, Kijoon and Sanghoon be damned.

"We should probably see if Dongjae's found out anything from CCTV yet," Hongjoong suggests. He's in the process of getting as far away from the body as possible when Yunho grunts a rough, "Hongjoong."

His flashlight is pointed off to the right illuminating a far corner. Hongjoong follows the beam, squinting. At the end of a small alcove, barely high enough for a child to stand upright in, is a thick smear of tar-like crimson. A thin circle around a jagged triskelion and, this time, the hanja for _feng_ in the absolute center. 

Shards of glass spread outward beneath it in a pattern not unlike the spray of blood, an improbable arc of glittering mercury in the dark.

Hongjoong keeps his gaze locked on the symbol feeling numb. "Serial killer?"

"Worse," Yunho says tightly. "We might have multiple."

"Group effort?" Hongjoong tamps down on the hysterical laughter trying to force its way out. 

Yunho holds him steady with a tight grip to Hongjoong's elbow and is unafraid to laugh. "Well, you know what they say: teamwork makes the dream work."


End file.
